Abduction
by Child of Loki
Summary: When Barek goes missing, can the other Major Case detectives figure out what happened to her before it's too late?
1. Night Two

**Disclaimer: I don't own Law & Order Criminal Intent or its characters…**

**Author's note: I had this idea awhile ago, but finally thought I'd try it out. This fic is nonlinear, but hopefully will remain cohesive and understandable. We'll see how it goes, or if I decide to continue fleshing it out and such… (PS Lame title, I know… I couldn't think of a good one…any suggestions?)**

**Warning: Contains material not suitable for younger or sensitive readers.**

Abduction

Night Two:

Mike entered his apartment but something wasn't right. Someone must have broken in… _again_…but would the bastard risk such a move? He was bold. Mike had to grant him that. The television in the living room was on. He could see it from where he stood in the main hall of his tiny apartment. There was an image frozen on the screen, blurry because of the poor lighting in addition to the fact that it was a paused tape.

He made his way toward it, like it was the only thing in the universe, curiosity taking him over and putting him on autopilot. The closer he got, the worse he felt. He tried to tell himself it wasn't because there was recognition in the image frozen on the screen. When he was but a few feet away, he was almost positive he knew what, _who_, the image was. He wanted to stop, turn away, pretend it wasn't real, but he was compelled to continue his slow progression towards it. Maybe if he pushed that button, freed the image from its torturous existence indefinitely suspended upon his TV's screen, it would prove him wrong. It would be something, _someone_, else. And he would finally be able to let out the breath he had been holding since he recognized the blurred, anguished figure.

A few inches, and there was nothing he could do but push the button. If it was the trigger of the doomsday device, he would not be able to stay his hand, it was not his decision, it was not in his ability to deny the fate of the figure upon the screen to unfold before his very eyes. So he pressed the button. That is to say, his finger pressed the button, and he merely watched it do so, without consciously sending the command from his brain to the appendage.

And the tape played. The figure was freed to tell its horrific tale. He backed up a foot or so, until the image was comprehendible to his eyes and brain again. His worse fears were confirmed, and he found himself continuing to back away from the image in horror, denial.

"Carolyn," he groaned quietly, mournfully, his eyes unable to move from the image of his partner being tortured on the screen before him. There was another figure in the shot with her, dressed in dark clothes, his features mostly obscured. But Mike knew who it was. It could only be one person, the man he would kill, rip apart with his bare hands.

Then the screams started. She had been fighting them, holding her own against the psycho as he beat her, cut her, taunted her, and even when he had begun to rape her. But she broke. He saw it in her eyes. And she screamed. Nothing significant at first, just guttural sounds of pain, but they still made him sick. He wanted to throw up so badly, but it never came. Then the throaty cries turned into open mouth screams, high pitched and visceral. His hands went to his ears. He couldn't stand to hear her pain, her terror. But even with the sounds muffled, the most heart-wrenching cry penetrated his soul. She had cried out for him.

He wanted to break everything in his apartment, jump out a window to his death, strangle every creep he met until he found the one who had done this to his partner, his beautiful Carolyn. Then he would tear the man to pieces. He wouldn't just beat the man to death, he would rip his flesh off his bones, make him suffer to his absolute last breath. He would pay for hurting her. He would pay dearly.

Mike was torn from his vengeful reverie as the image on the TV screen changed. The fucker had finished raping her. He had left the shot briefly, leaving Carolyn laying in a broken heap upon the floor. Then he had returned, and although the tape was dark and the details were generally hard to make out, Mike could not mistake the object in the bastard's hand for anything besides the menacingly shiny blade it was. Having stopped his progression away from the TV screen to fume vengefully, he now resumed to back away from it, faster than before, knowing what was coming next, wanting to be as far from it as possible.

When the fucker pulled Carolyn's hair, raising her to her feet, exposing her neck to the glittering blade, Mike turned away.

What he saw was far worse.

Laying upon the couch behind him, the entire time, was the lifeless body of Carolyn Barek. When his eyes fell upon her, he fell to his knees. He didn't bother checking her vitals. He knew she was dead by her blank glazed eyes staring emptily to the world above her, by her pale sallow skin. And she was cold, so cold.

"No!" he shouted repeatedly. "NO! NO! NO!"

-----------------------------------

"NO!" Mike shouted as he started awake. Breathing heavily he sat upright in bed. He shivered as the sweat evaporated from his body and he felt feverish from the physical effects of the nightmare. And he never in his life had had a nightmare quite that horrifying before.

Deciding that there was no way he would be able to sleep after that, he got out of bed and made his way to through the dark apartment to the kitchen. A glass of water should help him feel better, or at least replenish all of the water he just sweated out, dreaming that his partner had been tortured and raped and he had been powerless to do anything about it. He took deep breaths before he drank the water down, trying to slow his respiration to normal.

The worst part of the whole thing was that a creep did have his partner. He was powerless to do anything about it. And he had no clue what the bastard was doing to her.

As Mike gulped the water down, something caught his eye.

A piece of paper was taped to one of the cupboards in the kitchen. He didn't remember putting it there. Why would he have? He moved closer to inspect it. It was a photograph, and by the light flowing in through the kitchen window from the streetlamp outside he could tell what the photo was of. It was of Carolyn, her shirt torn open, the beautiful skin of her torso exposed, her gorgeous breasts bare. Her arms were tied behind her back, like the other photos. But this one was slightly different than the ones he had seen before the CSU whisked them away. She was fully conscious in this one and looked directly into the camera, or at its owner.

Mike smiled to himself. The look in her eyes said it all. She was going to be okay. This creep would be sorry he had kidnapped her, sorry he had ever hurt anyone, sorry he had even been born. The pure look of defiance and hatred she was giving the photographer told Mike all the bastard had to do was make one small mistake, one tiny slip-up, and he would regret it until he died, which probably wouldn't be a long period of time, judging by how pissed-off Carolyn looked.

Placing the glass back down in the sink, Mike began to make his way back to bed. He hated sleeping at a time when his partner needed him most, but he was of no use to her dead tired. A thought that was nagging in the back of his mind jumped forward. _Why was that picture here?_ The CSUs could be a little dense at times, but they weren't that absent-minded as to leave obvious evidence behind.

Unfortunately for him, the thought had arrived a fraction too late to spare him the blow he received to the back of the head, and the subsequent unconsciousness that overtook him.

**A/N: To Be Continued…or Prequeled… or What Have You…**


	2. Day One: Morning

**Disclaimer: I don't own Law & Order Criminal Intent or its characters…**

**Author's note: Finally got back to this one…not sure if I like this part, at least how I've written it. It's not as poetic, dramatic or such as the first section, but maybe it shouldn't be either. I guess it's just the flow that bothers me or I'm being weird… Anyway, now that I've ragged on it, and have convinced at least half of you, probably more (if you read the author's note at all) not to continue, go onward…enjoy?**

**Warning: Contains material not suitable for younger or sensitive readers.**

Abduction

Day One: Morning

Mike Logan leaned back in his chair, stretching his muscles and yawning, an attempt to both relieve the tension building within them and appear as if he weren't going out of his mind with worry. When the captain approached his desk, he let the chair come back down onto all four legs and tried to look nonchalant.

"Still no word?" Captain Deakins asked, half-sitting, half-leaning on the edge of Logan's desk.

Mike shook his head. Opening his mouth would only make evident to the rest of the world his severe state of distraction over his partner's absence.

"You're worried about Barek," Deakins assessed his detective's thoughts. And it didn't take a detective to see that the man was obviously preoccupied.

"There's no reason to be," Logan replied, still attempting to maintain his calm façade despite the deepening concern. "She can take care of herself."

The captain nodded his head perceptively. "Give it an hour."

That meant 'wait another hour before going off and hunting her down.' _We refuse to report civilians missing unless twenty-four hours have passed after all…_

"Goren and Eames have a suspect in interrogation. Wanna listen in?"

Mike nodded his head and got up to follow the captain. _Why the hell not?!_ It was always interesting to see the bizarre pair in action. And it wasn't like he could continue investigating their own open cases without Barek. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything besides her unexplained absence.

But it wasn't wholly unexplained…

Barek must simply be suffering a debilitatingly severe hangover. She had been pretty intoxicated the previous night. And so had he.

But still, it wasn't like her not to call, no matter how horrendous the hangover…

--------------------------------------------

Detective Alex Eames tried to set her jaw against the urge to squirm, or to lash out against the creep. He was freaking her out and knew it. And not only did he know it, he was acting smug about it, letting his gaze linger upon her throughout the entire interrogation, whether she was talking or not. It annoyed Bobby, she could tell. But she wondered if her partner, too, realized how incredibly disturbed she was by the suspect. There was no doubt in her mind that he had committed these atrocities.

But there was no evidence either. And not even the infamous Detective Robert Goren was getting anywhere close to teasing a confession out of the murdering bastard.

"I told you I never even talked to these girls." He glanced at the tall pacing detective with his cold grey eyes, giving Alex a momentary reprieve from their icy gaze. But it was only a moment before they once again were turned upon her.

"_Never talked_," Bobby parroted the words. "But you've seen them before."

"Some of 'em, yeah."

"Which ones?"

_Thank god. No. Thank you, Bobby! _Alex let the air out of her lungs in as undetectable a manner as possible. She hadn't really realized it had been caught inside her, until the psycho had looked away, and she felt free to release it. But she didn't want him to know she had been holding her breath either. It would give him too much pleasure.

"Her and her."

"Remember their names?"

"Nope, didn't catch them."

"I thought you liked to show them a good time? Huh? You want me to believe that you didn't even chat them up a bit? Not before you nabbed them?" Goren leaned in, his broken man routine, trying to tear the suspects attention once again away from Eames. "Not before you tortured them? How 'bout before you cut them open and watched the life drain from their eyes? How 'bout then?!"

The suspect simply stared blankly at Goren for a few moments, as if waiting for him to calm down before he'd allow the conversation to continue. Alex noted that his eyes didn't even widen a bit in fear or shock at the detective's outburst. He was a real piece of work, alright.

"I've never talked to any of these girls. I only remember seeing the two of them in passing because they were kind of pretty."

"Were they pretty after you mutilated them?" Bobby took out the photos of the bodies from the crime scene, well secondary scene, where the psycho had dumped the lifeless bodies of his victims. He slammed them down one by one on the table. "Do you still think they're pretty, now? Buried under six feet of dirt, worms and bugs chewing away at their decomposing flesh? Is that you're idea of pretty?!"

Alex fought the urge to attack the man, or throw up. She couldn't decide which one was going to win, which one she needed to work harder at in order to control. He was arrogant, proud of what he had done, she could tell. Maybe it would prove to be his undoing. But the thing was, if it was really going to be his breaking point, Bobby would've already seen it and exploited it by now, and the interrogation would've been over.

But it wasn't. He was good at hiding it. There never had been a visible smile, but the self-satisfied smirk was there omnipresent behind those cold grey eyes. He had killed those women. And he was proud. He was different from the other perps Alex had seen. She had been exposed to a lot of homicides, but the majority of them, most of them, weren't done by people like the psychopath sitting in front of her, dissecting her with harsh, unfeeling eyes. Most murderers weren't evil, they were bad, made bad choices, or got caught up in bad situations. They were motivated by greed, fear, anger. They killed out of a moment of passionate rage, or at a cool calculated distance because it would get them something they desired.

But not this guy. She had no clue as to why he would kill these women. The notion that even Bobby couldn't figure it out was beginning to creep into her mind as well. The murders were planned out, gruesome, but executed in an efficient detached way. What crazy, malicious void in his psyche could cause him to do such a thing?

"So, you didn't show these girls a good time?" Goren tried to tackle the suspect again. He felt like he was getting nowhere. There was just nothing he could pick up, take advantage of, no chink in his armor.

"I don't know what your definition of a good time is, detective. But I'd seriously rethink it."

It was a sarcastic comment but it was delivered in a completely flat manner. And all the while, the psycho was staring down Eames.

"Okay. You didn't want to show these girls a good time? Have some fun? Hmm?" Goren made another attempt at getting in the man's face, still failing. "Just like you don't want to show my partner here a good time?"

Alex couldn't catch herself before she looked to Bobby, her eyes wide, startled by the comment. She trusted him, but she was shocked that he would direct the attention towards her, when the suspect was so obviously already targeting her. Her partner was generally much more protective than that.

"Nope."

"Oh, C'mon! You've been staring at her for hours! Don't tell me you haven't been thinking about what you'd do to her!"

"I don't know what you think that is, nor do I want to. And besides, she's not really my type."

Still completely calm.

Goren, however, was not.

"Not your type?! Pretty and petite? It looks to be your type from here!" Bobby slammed his fist down on the table dramatically. Alex suddenly came to the realization that both men were playing at it. The scene lain out before her was nothing but a façade, both putting on fake performances, trying to trip the other up. And it was a draw.

"I like petite women, I suppose. What man doesn't? Easier to please, aren't they?" He locked eyes with Bobby. "You would know, being a big man…is it easier to make them scream? Or is the reason why you became a detective so you could exercise some sort of power over others, compensating for something?"

Normally, this would've signified a breakthrough, that the suspect had been engaged, was on the way to opening up. But the ridicule was delivered in such an unfeeling, entirely uninterested way as to completely negate such a possibility. No progress was being made. And the creep had returned his attention to staring almost unblinkingly at Alex.

"Besides, she's not my type," he announced after several moments of silence had passed. Bobby Goren had been stumped. Reacting the way one would normally expect to such an insult was obviously not going to work. But neither was any other way he could think of using the comment against the man. "I like brunettes."

No help there. The victims had a variety of hair and eye colors, skin tones. Besides, it wasn't even close to being enough evidence to use against him, or to keep him for longer. Time was running out. He had been picked up on a traffic violation, after all.

"Like that pretty detective. I think she works here." He continued to stare at Alex, the hidden smirk reappearing behind his steely, frightening eyes. She felt a chill creep deep into her bones and a knot form in her stomach. "Friend of yours, perhaps?"

_Barek!_

Again she found herself instinctively looking to her partner. And he had turned to her as well. Their eyes locked and they were both thinking the same thing. _Barek hadn't shown up for work that morning_. The psycho had her and there was nothing they could do to keep him in custody, to make him talk.

A split-second after their instinctive reaction, they knew it was a mistake. He had won this game. And Alex could see it in Bobby's eyes. He was angry, right on the edge of his breaking point. She soundlessly pleaded with him not to do it, knowing it would only get him in trouble, that it wouldn't help them find Carolyn (_oh god let her be safe, maybe she was safe, maybe it was all a ploy_). But her silent entreaty failed.

The large, intimidating detective made a move for the man who calmly remained sitting in his metallic chair, in front of the metallic table, in the drab grey room that was as cold and bleak as his soul.

The door to the interrogation room was flung open before Goren could get his hands on the bastard, but Alex was certain the creep hadn't even flinched under the threat.

A suit walked in, and everything about him screamed lawyer. He was accompanied by a couple of policemen, and Alex could make out the angry form of Detective Logan being restrained by Deakins in the hall behind them, with Carver standing off to one side. So he had been in the observation room. That was unfortunate for the perp. Pissing off Mike Logan was never a good idea.

She had stood as soon as she realized her failure to convince her partner that attacking the suspect was not a good idea. Her hand was on his arm, but wasn't wholly necessary. Bobby Goren knew when to back down.

Apparently, Mike Logan did not. She could hear the harsh words of Deakins and the struggling of the other detective as he was being subdued in the hallway, even under the fast, critical words of the lawyer.

"This man has the right to an attorney. There is no cause to hold him and he is to be released immediately."

_That was the end of that._

And amongst all of the commotion, Alex swore the murdering bastard winked at her, winked at her as he slipped out of their grasp, free to go torture and kill more women, and possibly one of their own.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Where's Logan?" Alex asked Deakins after their suspect had been escorted out, to do as he pleased.

"He's found a corner to cool down in," he replied, obviously just as agitated as the rest of them, but remembering his responsibility, attempting to reign in his emotion. Someone may have nabbed one of his detectives and he was not pleased, but he had to keep his head. Someone did.

"He's got her," Bobby said quietly. Neither the captain nor his partner had seen him this distracted in a long while. The detective was blaming himself, for failing to crack the bastard, to catch him. "It's my fault…I should've figured it out sooner…I-"

"It's not your fault, Bobby," Alex tried to reassure him, knowing it wouldn't work. But maybe it would point out the need for him to be rational. "He's the psychopath."

Goren nodded his head, forever grateful of his partner's presence and wisdom. Sometimes, it was the only thing that kept him grounded.

"I want you two to track down Barek," Deakins ordered his best pair of detectives. If anyone could find her, it would be them. Them or Logan. Perhaps, he should bet on Logan. That man could do wonders when he was angry or motivated enough. And he had been furious. But releasing Logan on his own vendetta would be a bad idea. He'd go after the bastard directly, probably kill him. "Take Logan when he calms down.

"I want her found."

**A/N: I have the plot outlined, the question is…will I write it or get horribly distracted by other things?**


End file.
